A Night of Vanilla & Wisteria
by thefabulousmrholmes
Summary: Sherlock was being his usual irritating self, so Molly decides to spice things up with some…butter.


Disclaimer: No, I do not own anything in the Sherlock Universe. All of that belongs to Sir ACD and the creators of the BBC Show. _Would it kill them for me to have a little bit of it though? Damn. _

A/N: Smutty fic I decided to write on a whim – as I usually do. Hope you like it, R&R please! :)

"Sherlock, do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? Why would John go to all those lengths just to escape your clutches for once, and actually _spend some long overdue_ time with his wife? Doesn't he realise that once you get into your pensive moods, begging to be immersed head-long into a juicy case, he has to be standing guard, at your constant beck-and-call?"

Molly perused through her toiletries bag, searching for her vanilla and wisteria body butter, with a wry smile playing across her pretty features. When she peered up to give him a knowing smirk, she almost snorted at his outraged expression.

"Stop that Molly, stop mocking me with your supposed stoic countenance. I do not _use_ John for my selfish purposes, and I'm offended you even suggest that I do!"

Giggling despite herself, Molly stood up and slowly advanced towards her fiancé, reaching for his hand.

Sherlock, being the stubborn prick that he was, immediately recoiled from her touch, refusing to accept any consolation, and proceeded to make his way to the farthest end of the room – his beloved couch.

Exasperated with Molly's sarcastic jibes, he picked up his copy of _Modern Inorganic Chemistry_ and flicked through the pages with renewed fury.

Oh, she wasn't having any of that. He wanted to behave like a petulant 4 year old? Well, he could _be. Her. Guest._

At first, herself angry at her insufferable lover's indignations, Molly was going to retire for the night, fully intending to ensure Sherlock remained on his precious little-couch-that-was-to-big-for-his-gigantic-flailing-limbs.

But then…a wicked notion began to foster. There was no harm in engaging in a little fun before a nightcap…_a lesson in delayed gratification shall we say Sherlock? Or in your case no gratification whatsoever_, Molly thought viciously.

She slowly lowered herself onto the armchair facing him, and unscrewed the lid of the body butter. Scooping up a generous amount, she began applying it on her forearms, riding the sleeves of her gown higher up.

Not one hair on a certain consulting detective's head moved.

Unwavering, she sank her fingers into the little container once more, this time exposing the unblemished alabaster skin on her legs and thighs. In long, fluid motions she rubbed the lotion tantalisingly up and down her limbs. _Surely the scent must have wafted over to his side by now_.

A tiny cough emerged from behind the rather thick book, as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

A huge grin threatened to burst on Molly's face and she had to bite her lip to prevent it from spreading. Carrying forth her torturous actions, this time she decided to up the ante. She undid the silk belt of her robe and parted the top just an inch – enough to give him a glimpse of her cleavage. What made it _even_ better – she'd worn no bra.

Taking another dollop of the butter she sensually moved her fingers in concentric circles across her neck down to her collarbones. To add effect – she closed her eyes and released the softest sigh.

This time that _definitely_ provoked a reaction. All pretence of reading had been cast aside as Sherlock gazed at her seemingly, coolly.

Oh, but she knew…she knew what this was doing to him. He had always hated falling victim to his basest desires, erasing the pedestal he had always put himself on, above the primal nature of man, resisting the natural sexual urges humans indulged themselves in. That was before he met Molly.

Secretly, she loved it. She loved that she could reduce him to that very man he loathed turning into – the rush of power that came with that responsibility was like being uplifted into a never-ending high. And after two years, she'd grown addicted to that high.

She relished in his misery as she saw his jaw tightening when she ran a trail of the butter from her suprasternal notch to valley between her breasts. Molly saw his steely resolve break as his fingers twitched involuntarily. She knew he wanted nothing more than to tear her apart that very moment.

Molly knew, somewhere deep down in her subconscious, that the games she played with him could be construed as unhealthy, vulgar or improper. But she didn't give a fuck.

All she wanted was that control over his mind. That very mind he was _oh so_ proud of. It was hers, as was everything else of his. Once she possessed that control, she had no problem relinquishing all _her_ control over to him – she was well aware that was _exactly_ what Sherlock wanted too. That was the reason he hadn't made a move till then.

It was a waiting game. A game Molly refused to lose.

Feeling braver, she parted the robe even further, presenting herself to him, clad in just her plain blue cotton underwear. The edges still covered her breasts though – she didn't want to give away the whole contest. Scraping the container for more butter, she held his stare as she splayed her fingers over her stomach, going down, down, down, but stopping just above her pubic bone.

Something flashed in his eyes, something feral, which both scared and excited her in equal capacities. The dangerous glare he was sending her way did nothing to quell the moan that escaped her lips.

That was it.

He lunged for her lifting her up by her arms and abruptly slammed her against the wall. With large hands braced on the wall on either side of her head, he leaned in close, his heady masculine scent enveloping her.

"That…was cruel, Molly. I dislike being treated cruelly."

Molly rejoiced, a tiny version of herself basking in her victorious triumph of shattering his tenacity, and was even happier that now came the part where she surrendered herself wholly to her fiancé's ministrations.

She gulped, his low growling voice never failing to mesmerise her, and was amazed at the way her nipples pebbled instantly at his implied threat. She had become so aroused at the dominant position he'd assumed, she could already feel the results pooling between her legs.

She arched her back, silently begging for him to touch her, hold her, kiss her – anything. Tightening her thighs together against the flutters inside, she stared up at him in anticipation. She feared she might lose her mind if he didn't touch her soon.

The raw power he exuded drew her in unswervingly. She pleaded with him as best as she could through her eyes to take her right there, but he seemed to be instinctively fighting against that very view.

He wanted to punish her for her delectable but absolutely devious conduct. Intense desire glittered darkly in his eyes as they roamed over her face, the promise in them more potent than any fantasy.

Words formed in her head, centering around - _please, Sherlock - _but they wouldn't come together coherently. Those jumbled words fled though when he leaned in, touching his tongue to her bottom lip. He ran it lightly back and forth in a gentle caress, simultaneously brushing her breasts with his chest.

Feeling her inhibitions slowly slip away, her eyes fluttered shut as a wave of longing washed over her, so strong she temporarily lost the ability to breathe. Willing herself to continue the use of her intercostal muscles and diaphragm, didn't help – if it weren't for the wall, she would have fallen.

Her nipples, still covered _only just_ though, by the robe, tingled at the warm friction, making her whimper.

The fact that he didn't touch her anywhere else made the dual caress even more stimulating. His drawn out nips at her lips frustrated her, the bastard was deliberately behaving as though he had all the time in the world, while her head continue to spin and sway.

When he broke off and lifted his head, she couldn't seem to find the strength to open her eyes. His lips a hair's breadth away from her continued to tease her senses and she waited expectantly for more.

The next brush of his lips was more forceful, making her jolt and she moaned despite herself. With her heart pounding, she adjusted the angle of her face, as though offering herself to him.

Sherlock applied pressure to her lips, prying them apart and he slid his tongue inside to stroke hers, crushing her to his chest tighter.

With a groan, she grabbed onto his shoulders, sighing at the increased heaviness against her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck, deepening the kiss.

He wasn't going to let her though. He had had enough of her forwardness for the night. Straining her hands away from him, he gripped them in his and pressed them to the wall, above her head. Smirking evilly, he proceeded to bite her bottom lip mercilessly enough to make it sting and bruised.

The sensations of being dominated, the friction, _him, _everything was inundating poor Molly. She snapped her head back, hitting it against the wall until she saw stars.

He pulled her close again and claimed her mouth in a slow, deliberate caress. He deepened the kiss by increments, only to retreat again every few seconds or so. With a panicked quiver, Molly tried to keep him from escaping, but he was too quick for her.

He reacted swiftly, almost anticipating her movements, breaking off the kiss and nibbling her lower lip once more. It had morphed into some twisted, erotic dance between the two.

His mouth hovered over hers, their breaths mingling. He remained just out of reach, his eyes steady on her half-lidded ones, admiring her lust-filled haze.

When her repeated attempts to get closer failed, she struggled against him, utterly frustrated. She couldn't look away from the smug satisfaction in his eyes as he lowered his head.

A little voice inside her wanted to teach him a lesson and rebel against his blatant arrogance, but she couldn't resist submitting herself to him, yet again as his kiss grew more possessive and hungry by the second.

His lips left hers again, and he nudged her face to the side with his nose, inhaling the vanilla and wisteria scent of her treasured body butter.

Her head lolled to the side, exposing her neck, which he took as invitation to thoroughly explore.

She cried out, the sharp pleasure of his teeth scraping over her jugular sending jolts of warmth to her centre, making it clench. She tried to wrench her wrists away from his hands, desperate to run it through his hair, but to no avail.

He forced one of his thighs between her legs that stopped her from closing them, and she couldn't stop rubbing her clit against it. She wrapped her right leg around his waist, trying to send him hints that he needed to fuck her there and then. He roughly threw aside her robe over his shoulder, releasing her wrists momentarily, of which she took full advantage of.

Carding her fingers through his hair, as he lay open-mouthed kisses reverently on her breasts, she thought she could happily die in peace. He licked a long line across her sternum and gazed up at her mischievously.

"You taste delicious, Molly. Never stop using that lotion."

"It's body butter and shut up, Sherlock," she ordered, dragging him up by his hair for a brutal kiss. Though painful, the exquisite pleasure outweighed it and managed to elicit a groan out of him.

She held him against her chest, fearing he might pull away again. The bulge in his trousers poked insistently at her hip, and she realised he had far too many clothes on, compared to her. _Not fair._

Impatient, and afraid he might revert back to playing his little game, she tore off the buttons from his shirt as he chuckled at her enthusiasm. She gripped the nape of his neck with one hand and pulled him in for another hungry kiss, as her other hand worked towards undoing his belt.

He stepped out of his trousers and stood in front of her in just his boxers. His Spongebob printed boxers.

One look at that and Molly burst out into a loud guffaw.

Eyebrows furrowing, Sherlock didn't like the direction this tryst was going to turn into, and knew he had to act fast. He knelt down and jerked Molly's knickers off, wrapping his arms behind her knees.

She bucked, collapsing to the ground, completely taken aback. "Sherlock, you arse, what did you do that for?"

"Because of your _insolence_, Molly Hooper, we are going to do this right here. On the floor." He murmured menacingly.

Molly blanched, recalling the unpleasant marks and bruises from their previous encounters. "But Sherlock the rug bur-"

He cut her off and muffled her protests by taking her mouth with his again. Looming over her, he wrapped one arm under her, and used the other to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Swallowing her moans, he swiftly removed his own boxers, making a mental note to hand them to Wiggins to burn in the nearby incinerator. Convinced that she wouldn't mind the floor now, he broke their kiss and slid down to where he'd been wanting to visit all night.

"Oh Molly, Molly, you're _drenched. _And so soon. Bit disappointing for you, no, considering _you_ were the one seducing me, not the other way round?" he simpered conceitedly.

Any insults she had prepared to hurl at him soon crashed and burned as he slid two fingers to her centre and parted her folds. She writhed wildly against him, letting out a cry and Sherlock had to hold her abdomen down to keep her still.

He continued to pump in and out of her inner walls and marvelled in her coming completely undone before his eyes. He tentatively licked her pubic mound, surprised to discover the same vanilla and wisteria taste present on the rest of her body.

_But when…she must have applied it right after her bath, the little minx. _

He traced the taste around her mound and finally, kneeling between her smooth thighs, he spread her ankles wide and touched his tongue to her clit.

Molly jerked as though she'd been touched by a livewire, her hoarse scream filling the room. Sherlock had to fight to control his desire to stop the extended foreplay and give in. Her hands fisted in his locks as he delved deeper replacing his fingers with his tongue.

She couldn't believe the sounds that were emanating from her throat. Her body's reactions to Sherlock's affections never ceased to amaze her. Every single inch of her body felt pulled tight as a bow-string, the pleasure indescribable.

Sherlock took his time, despite his obvious and throbbing want. Running his tongue slowly over her folds, he seemed to savour her. He gently blew warm breath over her clit, making her arch her body, every muscle tense and quivering.

She didn't have sufficient time to recover, before he took her nub between his firm lips and drew long, smooth swipes over it that threw her over the edge so rapidly, it made her dizzy.

Her legs kicked involuntarily as the sublime pleasure washed over her. Digging her heels into the ground, she rankled against Sherlock, the sensations impossible to bear.

Her moans and gulps for air had just subsided as Sherlock kept pressing his mouth over her oversensitised clit in slow, sensual strokes that had her body shaking helplessly.

He rose up to her face, gazing at her sated expression with wonderment as he touched his hand to her cheek. She leaned into his palm and bent her head up in a soft kiss as he tangled his hand into her long tresses. Once he opened for her, she could taste herself on him, giving her this innate sense of empowerment like she'd never felt otherwise.

Emboldened, she reached down for his length and gripped it hard in her small hand. He jumped back and hissed at the sudden impact and tugged at her hair roughly in retaliation. She laughed breathily and regarded him defiantly.

Sherlock pulled her hair more firmly until his lips were level with her chin. He placed a kiss to the underside of her jaw and whispered, "I want you Molly. So…so badly."

Closing her eyes in ecstasy, she leant forward and took his earlobe in her mouth, sucking lightly. "Fuck me, then Sherlock. Please. Oh god, please."

Needing no further encouragement, he yanked her forwards, sitting her upright on his lap, her legs around his back. She gasped as she felt his cock brush against her slit, making her squirm in the effort to take it inside.

His hands travelled down and seized her hips suddenly, and with no warning, hoisted her onto himself in one deep thrust.

Crying out in tremendous pleasure, Molly arched her back and neck, riding him out to accommodate his length. She could barely keep up with the mini-explosions erupting inside of her, on the verge of teetering her over a cliff, when his hands slid up her sides to fondle her breasts.

She clenched onto his cock as he began to thrust ruthlessly, thrilling at the heat that both filled and surrounded her. "Don't stop, oh _god_, d-don't-"

Sherlock couldn't take much more of her desperate begging and he wasn't sure how long more he could last. He distracted himself by trailing hot kisses down her neck to her breasts, every peck burning her. Warm lips enclosed over one nipple, while he kneaded the other.

Molly let out a loud moan, almost sobbing as she clutched at his shoulders for dear life. Her cries diffused through the air, growing louder and stronger with each movement, as he sucked her hard, while twisting the other nipple – the pain driving her almost insane with raw need.

"_Sherlock! Ohhh _Sherlock, I-I'm…I'm almost. Almost. There." Each word punctuated sharply as he drove into her.

Releasing her nipple, he held her chin with his index finger and thumb, forcing her to look into his eyes. She felt like she was undergoing an out-of-body experience as she found herself getting lost in an abyss of deep azure.

"Come for me, Molly. Please. I want…" he muttered coarsely against her lips. He didn't need to finish his sentence. She knew. She always knew.

Feeling her inner walls clench around him, the warning tingles began with alarming strength, taking over her being wholly. As much as she tried, she couldn't keep her eyes focused on his during those few moments and settled for wrapping her arms around his neck as tears streamed down her face, joining the sheen of perspiration that covered her body.

Sherlock followed soon after, encasing her waist, groaning loudly, her name etched in his ramblings. "Molly, you're so good, so, so good, _Molly_."

How long had they simply lain there, gathering each other in their arms – five, ten, fifteen minutes? It didn't matter.

Gradually regaining their normal respiratory and cardiac patterns back, Molly fell back to the floor, grinning like a hormone-crazed teenager. She urged Sherlock to follow her and nestled into her familiar nook.

The exhaustion was impending upon them and Molly really wanted a shower before slumping off to a deep, nice slumber _in their bed, thank you very much. _She was _not_ looking forward to the multi-coloured bruises she'd definitely be fashioning tomorrow.

Freeing herself from Sherlock's embrace, she stood up a little unsteadily and stretched her sore muscles.

Cropping himself up on his elbow, Sherlock smiled at her petite naked form, in all its glory, out on display just for him.

Molly caught his smile, and guessing the motivations behind it, she rolled her eyes and spoke, "I'm going for a shower…care to join?"

His eyes sparkling with vigour, he nodded. Quirking his head to the side he sized her up and asked innocently, "Are you going to lather yourself with that body butter again?"

Molly laughed heartily and looked back down at him, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. "I used it all up, unfortunately. But there's other creams I could apply."

Getting up quickly and following Molly into the bathroom he quipped, "Nope, you're only going to use that one from now on. We're going to have to buy you more Molly…lots and lots more."

She turned around, with a hand on her hip, sniggering quietly. "Only if you promise to get more of those boxers…lots and lots more."

She squealed as Sherlock pursued her, throwing her over his shoulder and shutting the bathroom door behind them with a loud 'thud'.


End file.
